Page 11 of The Housekeeper's One-Night Baby
‘Do you have parents who are ready to embrace their roles as grandparents?’ he enquired tightly. ‘Siblings who are eager to be uncles and aunts, perhaps?’
Lizzie shook her head. If he was hoping for a huge and supportive family network which would pick up his share of parental responsibility, he had picked the wrong woman. ‘My mum and dad are both dead.’
‘You’re very young to be an orphan,’ he said and the unexpectedness of this observation made Lizzie disclose stuff she hadn’t been planning on telling him.
‘My father died when I was a baby and my mother wasn’t...she wasn’t in the best health, so I had to spend a lot of time looking after her and that’s the reason why my schooling was so sporadic. I don’t have any siblings,’ she rushed on, realising that any more sympathy might make her vulnerable and she couldn’t afford to be any more vulnerable than she already was. And then, because he was the father of her baby and she realised she knew practically nothing about him either, curiosity got the better of her. ‘What about you?’
She was unprepared for the tautening of his striking features, or the way his eyes suddenly became hard and bleak and empty. ‘This isn’t about me,’ he snapped. ‘It’s about you. And the baby. And it seems you have nobody to support you—’
‘I don’t need anybody to support me.’
‘No?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘So how are you intending to manage after the birth?’
It was a mantra Lizzie had repeated to herself many times over the past few months, mostly in an attempt to believe it. ‘It will be fine. Society is a lot more accommodating than it used to be. My boss knows. Obviously.’ With a self-conscious shrug, she glanced down at her bump. ‘She says I can carry on working for her. She’s even prepared to let me carry on living there during my maternity leave—in return for a few light housework duties when the baby’s asleep.’
‘“A few light housework duties”?’he echoed, his voice hardening. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It’s pretty obvious what it means, Niccolò. It’s called housework. That’s my job. Cooking. Ironing. Cleaning. Washing floors. Scrubbing loos. I expect there are people who take care of that side of your life for you and you probably don’t even notice they’re doing it. Am I right?’ She met his obdurate stare and knew she needed to be strong. To keep at bay this overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him. To test if he was real, or just some gorgeous figment of her imagination. ‘Anyway, it’s nothing to do with you.’
‘Are you serious?’ He studied her closely for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes, I can see you are. This has everything to do with me—and you’re missing the point, Lizzie.’
‘The point being what?’ Defensively, she crossed her arms over her chest and as his gaze was drawn to the frumpy bodice of her thrift-shop dress, she found herself wishing she’d been able to buy some pretty maternity clothes. With what? The paltry stash she was trying to save before the baby was born, for a ‘rainy day’? For a dress she’d only be able to wear for a few short months? And surely she didn’t think that whatever she wore would have made the slightest bit of difference. He had walked away from her. He didn’t want her. ‘Are you trying to tell me you care what happens to this baby?’
‘Why else do you think I’m here?’ he questioned coolly.
Lizzie was glad she was sitting down, not sure she’d heard him properly. Yes, that had once been her fantasy, on that terrifying morning when she’d done two tests in quick succession and had allowed herself the wistful image of Niccolò Macario cradling his newborn. But that had been before she’d come up against all the roadblocks he’d put between them, ensuring she couldn’t contact him, and the realisation that he’d never intended to see her again. She could cope with that—of course she could. The idea that a man like him had been attracted to her in the first place had always been difficult to get her head round. Yet now he was implying...what?
‘I can’t believe you want to be a father,’ she croaked.
‘You’re right, I don’t. Or rather, I never intended to be one. Fatherhood was never part of my game plan,’ he added grimly. ‘But since it seems I have no choice in the matter, I don’t intend to turn my back on my responsibilities.’
‘You mean...that you’re offering financial help?’ she questioned cautiously, because she couldn’t think what else he meant.
‘Is that what you’d like?’
She blinked at him. ‘Erm—’
‘New house? Nanny? Would that work?’ he continued silkily.
‘That’s very...kind of you,’ she said, though she was so busy wondering whether she’d want anyone else—like a nanny—being hands-on with her baby, that she wasn’t really taking in his words.
‘Perhaps you’d like a new car, too?’
This was taking generosity to a ridiculous level, she thought—when his sardonic expression informed her exactly what he was trying to do. Making out she was a greedy woman with her eye on the main chance! Just like earlier when he’d implied she’d only had sex with him because she’d known he was so rich. What must life be like if you were as cynical as Niccolò Macario? she wondered scornfully. So play him at his own game. ‘Oh, yes, please,’ she breathed, injecting her voice with an acquisitive note. ‘And plenty of shiny baubles, too. Diamonds would be best. Rare, glittering diamonds which I could sell on the open market.’
There was a split second of a pause while he seemed to be taking her demands seriously and then, to her surprise and, yes, her consternation, he tipped his head back and started to laugh. It was, hands down, the sexiest laugh she had ever witnessed and Lizzie couldn’t stop herself from reacting to it. She felt a distracting tug of heat. She felt her tummy tightening and gave silent thanks that her pinafore dress was bulky enough to conceal the unwanted hardening of her nipples as she shifted awkwardly on her chair.
‘Ah,cara,’ he murmured. ‘Your ability to inject a little humour into this unwanted situation will go some way towards making it a little more...’ He seemed to have some difficulty selecting the next word. ‘Agreeable,’ he concluded eventually.
Lizzie regarded him suspiciously. ‘I’m still not sure what you’re getting at.’
‘Think about it.’
‘Sorry. No can do. I’m pregnant and my head’s gone to mush. Some people call it “baby brain”, though others think that’s very rude.’
‘Then let me spell it out for you so that there can be no misunderstanding.’ There was a pause. ‘You cannot carry on in your current role, working in that house.’
‘Why not?’
